


the fuss about feathers

by flintandfuss



Category: In Other Lands | The Turn of the Story - Sarah Rees Brennan
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, also rambling because elliot, bashful and embarrassed luke, harpy nesting instincts, references to harpy culture and customs, teasing and flirtatious elliot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23144602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flintandfuss/pseuds/flintandfuss
Summary: Elliot woke slowly, but not softly. First, it was a jab to the ribs. Then a grumble that tickled the skin beneath Luke’s armpit. Elliot buried his nose deeper, made a noise of disgust, and flopped around to plant his bony chin square on Luke’s chest.“Ugh, is it morning? Who said that was allowed? I demand a refund.”Luke watches Elliot sleep, gets teased for it, and accidentally reveals his hand about how much he likes his feathers in Elliot's hair.
Relationships: Elliot Schafer/Luke Sunborn
Comments: 12
Kudos: 171





	the fuss about feathers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moth_writes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moth_writes/gifts).



> Written for ITSFANDOMNIC (insanemreads on tumblr) for the prompts "waking up" and "on the edge of consciousness"

Luke should have liked Elliot when he was sleeping. 

He was all elbows at first—sharp and selfish, a creature protecting his hoard of feather-stuffed linen from enemy forces. He was Elliot, after all. 

But as the night wore on, his edges softened. His mouth lost its sour shape, giving way to peaceful breathing. And when Luke wrapped a wing around him (after Elliot had drifted off—Luke wasn’t about to encourage that particular fixation), Elliot went pliant like a golden shield left in the sun. It didn’t make sense for him to give so easily under Luke’s touch, but as their breathing slowed in tandem inside the dark cocoon of wings, Elliot surrendered his daily battle against the world. 

It was everything Luke had always wanted. An oasis of peace in the chaos of his life. Something loving and true and entirely his. But . . .

Elliot woke slowly, but not softly. First, it was a jab to the ribs. Then a grumble that tickled the skin beneath Luke’s armpit. Elliot buried his nose deeper, made a noise of disgust, and flopped around to plant his bony chin square on Luke’s chest. 

“Ugh, is it morning? Who said that was allowed? I demand a refund.” Elliot cracked open his eyes, squinting blearily up at him. 

“What?” Luke said, not really expecting an answer.

Which was good, because he didn’t get one. Even half-closed, it was easy to see Elliot’s eyes catch a dangerous gleam. 

“Were you watching me sleep?” 

Luke set his jaw, refusing to look away. If he did, Elliot would  _ know. _

He always seemed to know anyway. Elliot pushed himself up, planting his elbows firmly in Luke’s ribs. “You were!” he crowed. 

Luke scrambled for his dignity. It always seemed to run off around his boyfriend. “You slept half the day away! And I couldn’t exactly  _ move, _ could I? Besides,” he added, because Elliot liked his teasing, “you can’t talk my ear off when you’re sleeping.” 

There was no need for Elliot to know that Luke didn’t like that at all.

Elliot’s grin was positively wicked. His fingers slid down Luke’s ribs to trace  _ very distracting _ shapes into his skin. “How very ‘every breath you take’ of you, Luke.” 

The best Luke could manage was a noise somewhere in the vicinity of,  _ “Hungh?” _

Elliot’s fingers ceased wandering, digging tightly (and painfully) into Luke’s side. “Don’t tell me you agree with the romanticization of the exceptionally stalkerish tendencies in The Police’s most popular—and frankly overrated—anthem! I mean,” he amended in light of Luke’s bafflement, “you don’t know who The Police are, I understand that. But surely you can agree with my point. Society romanticizes behavior that’s creepy at best and dangerous at worst—though I will admit to overstepping a few boundaries myself in the name of love, that hardly—”

Luke could settle in for the long haul, he could intercept Elliot’s charge off whatever cliff he was racing toward. “You have feathers in your hair,” he said. 

Elliot paused, hand flying to the tufts of down snarled in the wildfire of his hair. It’s not like a few feathers were anything unusual after they spent the night together, but sometimes Elliot missed them. And people noticed. 

People talked. 

Luke felt his cheeks glow. His wings brushed across Elliot’s shoulders, touching his nape where gold and fire nestled together in the mid-morning sunlight. “I could ... help. If you wanted.”

Elliot considered. 

“Why?” he asked, pure suspicion. 

Luke blinked. “Uh... it looks...” He struggled for the right word, heart pounding. He didn’t expect Elliot to demand he explain himself. “Messy,” he decided. “Not bad! Just, uh…” 

“Just?” Elliot repeated archly. 

Luke couldn’t tell if he was kidding.

He didn’t want Elliot to take offense—and, anyway, he  _ liked _ saying it—so he added, “And I’m your boyfriend. So I should help.”

Elliot’s eyes remained narrowed for a stressfully long moment before his entire expression brightened. It was not a look that comforted Luke. 

“You like it!” he declared. Clearly, he was trying valiantly not to laugh. He was also  _ failing _ valiantly in the laughter department. “I mean, I knew this was a possibility. Podarge always got twitchy when my hair started collecting feathers, and I’m pretty sure Celaeno was scandalized the time she spotted dappled feathers in my hair. As if I can help it. This disaster attracts anything with the least bit of texture.” 

He tossed his head for emphasis. Luke’s fallen feathers—elevated, really, in their new nest on his boyfriend’s head—caught the morning sunlight, setting Elliot’s hair aflame. He tried to hide the way his breath stuttered like smoke in the wind, but of course, Elliot never missed a thing that might embarrass him. 

This time, Elliot’s bright smile did comfort him. 

“You like it,” Elliot repeated, more softly and with less triumph. Luke felt like Elliot had planted a banner on a field of victory deep inside his chest. 

Or maybe that was Elliot’s elbow rearranging itself to draw him closer. 

“I like it.” The admission made Luke’s cheeks burn. 

Elliot made a curious noise, head tilted to the side. “Don’t you  _ want _ everyone to see? I mean, I was led to believe that stray feathers might appeal to some latent harpy nesting instinct. Your aunt told me quite definitively that I should take it as the highest compliment if you preened anytime I wore an original Luke Sunborn feather headdress. Something about warning off potential suitors.” 

Elliot got a very stern,  _ very _ false expression on his face. “Not that I’d want that. You staking a claim. I’m my own person, you know.”

“I know,” Luke said, feeling strangled. He wanted to die. “It’s not ... like that.  _ I’m _ not.” He wasn’t sure if he meant the harpy mating customs—his chest flushed with mortification at the thought—or the sort of territorial posturing Elliot was accusing him of. 

He wondered if Elliot knew. His boyfriend often seemed to know what Luke meant when Luke himself did not. He liked to think it went both ways.

Elliot folded his arms across Luke’s chest, cushioning a cheek on the bend of his elbow so he could stare at Luke more comfortably. “Alright, then, loser. Get your fill.”

Luke’s heart soared, sudden and unexpected. 

Elliot was making fun of him. Luke  _ knew _ that, it was just...Elliot had  _ his _ feathers stuck in his wondrous, disastrous hair like an ornament, glinting in the light and responding to each of Luke’s breaths with a gentle, teasing sway. The softness of the feathers emphasized the dauntless lines of Elliot’s mouth, his eyes that flashed too brightly for anyone’s good. 

Only Luke got to see him like this: lit up and alive, all his sharp edges gilded. 

“Done?” Elliot asked a surprising amount of time later. Well, for Elliot. 

Luke was not done, but Elliot’s attention had wandered from his eyes to his mouth, so he nodded his head insistently. Elliot swooped up to press a warm, laughing kiss to Luke’s mouth. Luke tangled his fingers in Elliot’s hair. They stuck fast. Just like those accursed feathers. 

Luke loved watching Elliot sleep, just as he loved when he woke with a mouth full of complaints. But he loved him most like this. Alive in his arms, Luke’s feathers in his hair and mouth on his, as Elliot used that sweet-tart tongue to take him apart in ways he never could have dreamed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for letting me flex my wings (as it were) in the In Other Lands fandom! Please let me know if you liked the story. I may be tempted to dabble again :)


End file.
